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Venli hummed to Craving.
“You want more, don’t you?” Raboniel said. “Only one with pure ambition would stand where you do now. Serve well, and you may find the blessings available to the worthy. True knowledge. True life.”
Venli continued to hum, though her internal rhythm was something far more uncertain. The Rhythm of the Lost. She didn’t know what to make of Raboniel. Many Fused were some variety of unhinged: vengeful, destructive, conceited.
Listening to this creature’s careful, insightful offers, Venli found herself afraid. This creature was far more dangerous than any she’d encountered before.
Raboniel left, striding forward alongside the silent drifting figures of the Deepest Ones. Venli continued walking, and was surprised when Rothan worked his way up beside her. He was head of Lady Leshwi’s soldiers—not part of Venli’s staff, but analogous to her in authority. He, like most of Leshwi’s soldiers, had been given to Raboniel for this incursion.
The soldiers of the Pursuer had also joined them—and they were a group Venli knew by their fearsome reputation. They’d been harsh to the humans of Kholinar, but were among the strongest and proudest singer troops, with distinctive uniforms always worn with pride. Now those intermingled with Leshwi’s carefully trained and calmer troops, forming a powerful strike force with both strength and discipline.
Venli hadn’t interacted much with Rothan or the other soldiers, but she had nothing against him. Other than the fact that other Regals made her worried, as they held Voidspren in their gemhearts. With each step, his powerful figure seemed to crackle with energy. Sparks occasionally flashed across his deep red eyes. She remembered that feeling, holding stormform. The form she’d used when she’d led her people to their doom.
“You should not bother the Fused, Venli,” Rothan said to Derision, looking toward Raboniel. “Most are not as lenient as Leshwi. Take care. I would not see you fall. You are useful to us.”
“I … hadn’t noticed that you cared,” she said.
“Leshwi values you,” he said. “Therefore, so do the rest of us.” He left her with that simple warning as he retreated. Rothan didn’t often want answers or even engagement. He simply stood tall, spoke his mind, then expected to be understood.
He would be a good one to have on my side, Venli thought. But no, too dangerous. Far too dangerous. She couldn’t afford to think about recruitment right now. She had to focus on staying alive. For, as grueling as this hike through the mountains had been, she knew a more dangerous part was coming.
Within the week, they would arrive at Urithiru. And then the real test would come.
Unfortunately, as proven by my own situation, the combination of Shards is not always a path to greater power.
Adolin joined Zu atop the obsidian outcropping. The golden-haired Stoneward still wore her traditional clothing, a wrap around the chest and loose, flowing trousers. She claimed she’d picked up scouting skills as a guide in the Reshi Isles, but he thought she moved with too much stealth for that.
“There,” she said, pointing. “They are still following.”
Adolin raised the spyglass, sighting where she pointed. Indeed, he could make out the Tukari caravan in the distance. Those strange humans had been following them—never more than a few hours’ march behind—since they’d left the port town weeks earlier.
“Damnation,” Adolin said. “So they didn’t turn at the crossroads after all.” The terrain had grown uneven since this morning, full of crags and outcroppings, and it had been more difficult to spot their tail.
“Wanna go confront them?” Zu asked, grinning.
“Two on twenty?”
“One of those two can shape stone at her will and make clothing into weapons.”
“I don’t dare waste what Stormlight remains,” Adolin said.
“It will run out soon anyway,” she said. “Might as well give it a last hurrah! A new experience for the One.”
From below, Ua’pam called up, “Do not encourage her! She will do this foolish thing!”
Zu grinned at Adolin, then winked, as if her bravado were partially just to unnerve her spren. Even after weeks traveling with her, Adolin didn’t know what to make of the strange Stoneward. She lightly leaped off the outcropping and slid down the smooth obsidian, graceful as an Edgedancer. Below, she slapped Ua’pam on the shoulder and the two of them wandered toward camp.
He was tempted to do as Zu said, if only because their Stormlight was running out. They’d been in Shadesmar almost thirty days at this point, long enough that their spheres had all run out weeks ago. Though they’d spent much of their Stormlight at the caravan stop, they’d retained a few larger gemstones lent them by the Thaylens, capable of holding Light longer even than others the same size. Those were starting to dim, unfortunately. And once gems started to dim, they went dun quickly.
Adolin took another long look at the Tukari, then shook his head. They didn’t seem like they were trying to catch up to Adolin’s group; they didn’t push fast or move during the nights. The latter would have been easy, as “night” in Shadesmar wasn’t a strict time set by the movement of the sun. Those humans could easily have done a double march and overtaken his team.
He’d already sent a runner to ask Notum about them; his smaller patrol was marching a little ahead of Adolin’s group. The honorspren had said that it wasn’t illegal for those Tukari to use the road, but to report to him if they did anything expressly threatening.
Adolin tucked away the spyglass and returned to meet with the others, who were preparing to break camp. He’d learned from his father that a commander was best seen doing things, so he inspected the work, set the forward and rear guard for the day, and checked on Maya—who had been traveling on Gallant’s back.
The large midnight stallion had taken to her—he wouldn’t let just anyone ride him—and seemed to recognize that she was injured somehow. Gallant stepped extra carefully, moving gently so Maya wouldn’t be knocked from her seat. And Adolin was not simply imagining it, no matter what the others thought.
He got everyone moving, then sought out Shallan.
* * *
The last few weeks, Shallan had been of two minds—well, three, technically—on how to use the information that Beryl was a spy. As the caravan started out for the day, she stuck close to Beryl, ostensibly to help her with Lightweaving.
“I still need to find my focus, Brightness,” Beryl said, keeping pace easily with her long Alethi legs. It was almost criminal how luxurious her dark hair was, despite there being little water for bathing. “I have tried drawing as you suggest, but I’m not any good at it.”
“You used Lightweaving with men in the warcamps,” Shallan said. “And I’ve seen you use it in sparring.”
“Yes, but I can’t change anything but my own appearance!” she said. “I know I can do more. I’ve seen the rest of you.”
“It’s limited for most of us at the start,” Shallan said, nodding toward Vathah, who was walking alongside the Cryptics. “The first time I caught him Lightweaving, he didn’t believe he’d actually done it. It seems to surprise him each time he makes it happen.”
